Spike: What's up...Rupert?
Giles: Spike, I have a mission for you.
Spike: Oh really, because you know sometimes our missions end up with you trying to kill me. I'm not fond of those.
Giles: This is bona fide, with real ramifications. Take a look at this.
Spike: Looks like our boy's been here. You want to go check it out.
Giles: I need someone who can take care of themselves, in case Caleb's left some souvenirs.
Andrew: Are we going to get to the food stealing issue soon?
There wasn't actually anything to think about; Giles was reaching that last straw and that was simply something that he didn't do anymore-or at least tried not to. If he were being honest with himself, he would have admitted that he had nearly said, Take Andrew. It would have been petty revenge on the both of them. Giles wasn't above that, but he had had enough of the house full of sullen girls, and he needed to speak with Spike, privately.
"I'll go with you, in case there's more trouble than expected."
A collective, what echoed through the room, Spike leading the chorus with an incredulous eyebrow, as he shrugged on his coat.
Reaching for his satchel and not caring if it contained anything he needed or not, Giles spoke to the room in general. "I said that I'm going with Spike. This monastery is the only lead we have and..." With a brief glance, Giles read curiosity and annoyance on Spike's face. "And we wouldn't want anything to happen to Spike; Buffy would be upset."
Staring down Dawn wasn't a challenge. As someone intimately acquainted with trouble and how to look for it, Faith rolled her eyes, but only said, "The girls and I'll hold the fort."
Spike was on the move, using a bit of vampire speed to force Giles to jog just a bit to catch up. What Giles wasn't expecting was the motorbike.
"Spike, don't you think-" Giles stopped short when the nancy football helmet hit him a bit harder then necessary in the stomach. Giving it the look of disgust that such a thing deserved, he pitched it onto the lawn. "I haven't been here long enough to start playing rugby with a helmet."
Spike made no acknowledgment except to rev the bike. Swinging the strap of his satchel over his head, Giles adjusted it across his body as he settled on the back of the bike.
"Right. 'Spect you're used to taking the backseat in operations, based on the last mission you helped plan. Hold on." With a shake of his head, Spike amended, "Or not." The bike jerked forward half a foot, Spike emphasizing the need for compliance.
Sliding forward, Giles settled into place, holding onto Spike's waist. "It's been a number of years but as I recall, it was the bloke in the back who was in the driver's seat." Spike's head started to turn, but not enough for Giles to see the other man's expression. Instead, the bike shot off down the road.
Meditation. Giles knew more than a dozen techniques, practiced several, and even taught one or two. None of them were helping him with Spike's incessant pacing, accompanied by heavy boots falling on the monastery's stone floor.
"I should be back there," Spike said. Involuntarily, Giles head shot up, the singular rather like a wound -- not that Spike seemed to notice or care. But then again, why should he? "Anything could be happening, and she needs this information."
"Yes." It was rather surprising that a single word could stop Spike in his tracks. Ah, but the look on the other man's face explained it all. Spike had been talking to himself, as if Giles did not exist, but that didn't faze Giles, who had lived with that sort of thing before.
"Why the hell are we here? More importantly, why are we here?"
Spike's belligerence rolled off Giles; reacting to it would solve nothing. "We're here to get information to fight the First. I'm here because I've had my fill of teenage girls. You're here because...because you're her strongest warrior." Giles couldn't keep the sarcasm and doubt from his voice. "We're here because we need to talk."
Now that the blood was pounding harder in Giles veins, Spike's arrogant swagger was pissing Giles off more than just a little. Then when the little prick got up in his face it was rather like the last straw.
"Really? Is that how you plan to try and kill me this time--talk me to death." Stale smoke on Spike's breath hit Giles in the face.
"I'd like to apologize for that. Bloody well should have done the job myself. I do beg your forgiveness for allowing the man with a family vendetta to take his shot at you." Giles didn't move, but neither did Spike.
"So what, he's Inigo Montoya, and you're the brave hero giving him his one lousy shot." The finger in Giles chest was hard; it hurt and Giles didn't move because he knew it was bloody well what Spike wanted.
"Something like that." No point in quibbling over the specific language. Truth be told it was one of the things that he liked about Spike. Neither of them was caught up in splitting hairs over meaningless words.
"Bollocks." It was said simply, and Giles could only quirk an eyebrow because however misguided, those had been his reasons. He tried to speak, but Spike wasn't done. "You're a bloody coward, and I'm not talking about coming after me. I saw you go after Angelus in a nest of vamps. I know you've got the balls to take me on. You're scared of her. Were hoping that Buffy wouldn't blame you.
The finger was back in Giles' chest, and this time it knocked a breath out--one that Giles realized that he had been holding. So much for meditation; so much for calm. Giles' hand flew into Spike's chest shoving the other man back. Momentum was now carrying him into Spike's face. "Really? You think I was foolish enough to believe that she wouldn't put two and two together and come to the grand conclusion that I was distracting her? You think that I haven't felt the knife twist in my gut every time I've faltered in her eyes?" A part of Giles mind was trying to race ahead, demanding calm, but the words were leaving his mouth so fast that he was spitting on Spike.
"God help me, any time that I ever strained the trust she had in me, it has come back to haunt me a thousand fold. But then again, maybe you wouldn't know that, because it would seem that the undead are allowed to do the unimaginable and never have to put an ounce into earning her forgiveness."
The right cross knocked Giles to the floor. The kick to his thigh set him on his arse.
Spike raged about the room, randomly slamming his hand into the stone walls. "Bloody peaches and cream when I came back after getting my soul back, but you weren't here, were you. Off in England, grooming up girls to replace her." Residual pain in Giles' leg stopped him from springing up and wiping the sneer off Spike's face.
"Off in the land of Watchers, when there was one, reading your god-damned books--looking for her secrets but you lot never knew anything about her." Snatching Giles' bag off the floor, Spike unceremoniously dropped the contents onto the floor. Stakes clattered across the floor with a hollow rattle, while books landed with a ugly thump, and metal rang out from the short axe. A bottle of scotch in its heavy duty-free sleeve hit the stones hard. "Books and bits of wood, like it was all about that."
Pointless. It was all so very pointless. Giles knew that the two of them would never see eye to eye, never be able to see from the other's point of view. Resisting the urge to pick up a stake and begin tapping it against the floor, Giles pulled himself to his feet, stretching his injured leg.
"Well, well." Glancing up, Giles saw that Spike was holding a small leather case, which had presumably come from his bag. With a frown, Giles tried to remember exactly what it was, but Spike solved the issue for them both by opening the zipper revealing a syringe and a small vile of clear liquid. "Bad habits affecting your judgment, Rupert?"
"Why don't you read the note, you arse?"
"Tut tut, language." Curiosity must have overcome Spike, because he unfolded the small sheaf of fine lined paper. "Orpheus?" For the first time in their conversation, Spike seemed surprised.
"Yes, it was my intention to shoot up and become some vampire's meal." Dropping the sarcasm, Giles continued. "Willow brought the sample back from LA. Apparently based on what she saw with Faith and Angelus, she thought a weapon could be made from the drug." Snatching the bag from the floor, Giles began to gather his scattered belongings. There wasn't a puddle around the container of scotch. Pulling off the top of the protective sleeve, Giles was surprised to find the bottle intact.
Giles paused and bit back a snide retort. Spike's tone had been genuinely curious.
"You've seen them. You presumably know how that drug works. I'm not holding out any hope that it will help us."
Spike nodded. "Since the troops aren't here to be demoralized, what do you think our chances are?" At Giles' raised eyebrow, Spike handed back the needle case. "I mean it; not trying to drag incriminating statements out of you."
Taking the case, Giles debated not speaking, but it seemed that they were almost having a conversation. "If we had to rely on just hope and faith, Buffy and those girls could defeat the legions of hell. Unless we get a weapon that's stronger than a planet full of super vampires, we're dead." For a moment he hesitated but then went on. "It does us no good that she won't rely on all the strength and talents in her midst and instead chooses to rely on but a few."
There was something hard in Spike's face and then it faded. "It comes back down to me and you, don't it?"
"I'm not just speaking about me."
"But I was one half that equation. All the backstabbing and infighting aren't helping anything either. How do we get back on the same side?"
A short bark of laughter escaped his lips before Giles sighed. "I could forget that you are the single most annoying creature to have ever walked the planet, with the possible exception of Andrew. Meanwhile, you could forgive me for conspiring to end your existence."
"Could if I trusted you." Both men studied each other and the deep understanding of enemies went between them.
Giles was back to the same argument about the two of them not being able to see eye to eye and then an idea struck him. "What if you could? For that matter, what if I could trust you? What if we could get into each other's minds and understand the other's point of view?"
"Lovely idea," Spike scoffed. "How shall we do it, meditation?"
Giles opened the case, exposing the syringe and the vial.
Spike's eyes went between the syringe and Giles' face. "Your bloody serious and insane. Or is it the other way around then?" Spike's body language was defensive, doubt in his words. "You get hopped up, and I take the blame when you don't make it back to Sunnydale in one piece."
Giles could imagine Buffy slamming the door in his face for good. "If we don't both make it back in one piece, there will be trouble for the survivor. I would say that this takes a certain amount of trust." Belatedly Giles added, "And some balls."
"Let's do it then." Shifting into game face, Spike walked very close to Giles, who did not budge except to follow Spike. Dropping to the floor, Spike shifted back to human face and patted the cold cement beside him. Giles tossed him the needle case and removed his belt, not commenting at Spike's raised eyebrow. Instead, he looped it around his upper arm and slid the leather back into the buckle.
There was an appreciative nod. "Forgot you were adventurous in the seventies. Wha'd they call you?" Spike picked up the scotch bottle, not commenting on its presence among Giles' belongings. Instead, he took off the top and took a long drink. Giles could see the muscles working on the pale throat--long, deceptively delicate in appearance. Giles pushed away any appreciative thoughts, taking his spot on the floor.
"Ripper." Accepting the bottle from Spike, Giles let the alcohol burn a warm path down his throat. Somewhat fortified, he tightened the belt and closed his fist. Both men watched as the vein rose. Reaching into the bag, Giles handed over a knife in a leather sheath.
"What's this for?"
"Getting at the blood; you're daft if you think that I'm going to let you bite me. I suspect you know how to use that in a manner that won't leave me crippled?"
Absently, Spike juggled the blade in its case. "Teeth or no deal."
"There will be too many questions if I go back with a pair of puncture wounds."
Catching the knife, Spike turned and stared. "What? You expect that I can cut you like a surgeon, but I can't put the bite on discreetly?"
"So terribly sorry. The Watcher Diaries seemed to indicate that subtle was not your forte--so glad to have written recent entries that confirm that."
"Just-" Spike hesitated and then smiled. "Well truth be told, it's not. Still doesn't mean I can't do it. Teeth or no deal."
Giles could see that he had no way of winning this point. "Where then?"
"If you're into long sleeves, could do the arm. To be completely anonymous, the thigh." Spike's response was just as professional and business-like as Giles' handling of the needle and vial. "Of course, the throat's the most fun."
Well, professional until that moment. The accompanying leer set Giles' heart moving a bit faster. Bloody inappropriate to be turned on at the prospect of being someone's dinner. Not that he made a habit of being shirtless outside the bathroom, the arm still posed one too many possible risks. "The monk?"
"Heard him barricade himself in his room, praying all the while. He won't be coming out until he hears us leave." Satisfied that this was as good as the situation was going to get, Giles passed the needle and kicked off his shoe. Without any fuss, he opened his jeans and shimmed until his left leg was free of the cloth. A large purple bruise was already forming where Spike had kicked him.
"Silk boxers? I had you pegged for-"
"Do shut up!" Snatching the syringe back, Giles cleared the tip of air and unceremoniously slid the needle into his arm. Both men watched as the plunger drew back, pulling a small amount of blood into the barrel, verify that the vein had been struck. Slowly Giles pushed the plunger home, sealing his part of the bargain. Loosening the belt, he sat back and took another long swallow of the scotch, waiting for the drug to take effect.
"Wicked stuff. I can see it moving, little ball of heat working its way through your veins, like a comet under your skin." The room was too cold or perhaps it was that Giles was too hot, as the fire trail moved like Spike described it.
"It must be the mystical prop-properties." His tongue was thick and the lights a bit too bright. It seemed like it had been quite a long time since Giles had a nice buzz like this. Spike's hands were on his face. Tiny voices echoed in the background about self-defense, but the much calmer internal voice simply said, relax. And Giles did, looking into Spike's blue eyes and thinking that they were much more interesting up close.
"No one knows what it's like, to be the bad man, to be the sad man, behind blue eyes..." Giles knew that the words coming out of his mouth weren't nearly as clear as he could hear them in his head. His fingers moved absently to form the chords.
"Rupes, you're dating us both with that one." Did Spike know that Giles thought the description in the song was rather apt? Perhaps he did, because Spike was looking decidedly uncomfortable as he refortified himself with the scotch.
Bully for me, thought Giles. There were only humming noises reaching his ears, so apparently his mouth wasn't cooperating. The words still ran through his head clear as ever.
"Right, let's get on with this." Hard fingers were working Giles thigh; not the least bit unpleasant. Indeed, if Spike were looking for blood, he was mere inches from where the real source was. High and hard, with a good song in his head and a man's hands working his flesh; it was truly reminiscent of a better time. And even the pain and the wet sucking on his flesh were not unfamiliar.
The plaster was falling from the walls, and based on the stains, the plumbing was in need of repair. Giles wondered about the travel poster, shaking his finger at it and then remembering that it was added to cover a hole he had punched in the wall one night in a fit of anger.
"Charming." And Spike didn't belong here, yet there he was, standing next to Giles, who was still singing. Who was silent, and now watching a younger version of himself sing.
"Oh lord, I know this place."
"Dru and I hold up in worse out in Eastern Europe. That's you, isn't it? Not so bad looking. When you were younger." Giles glared but didn't say anything, because there was a movement beneath the table that drew both their attentions. As if it had been yesterday, Giles' mind filled in the details.
"Spike, we should..." Should what? Leave? Somehow the descriptions of this drug had been less than accurate in explaining its actual effects. Of course, it didn't matter. Spike had moved further into the room and now had a full view.
"This bloke, sucking your cock, he the one that turned you into a Fyarl?"
"You never met him, how-"
"Buffy filled in the details she knew of your misspent youth; ones she knew anyway. I'm just fitting the pieces together." The whole time, Spike was staring downward, and Giles was fighting every natural response to the embarrassment. But god the lyrics and the moment were familiar. He heard it coming before the discordant note filled the room, followed immediately by the sound of laughter.
"We're going out tonight." There was victory in Ethan's voice, as his head drifted above the table's edge.
"My Rupert, you're rather impressive--grower, not a shower?" The compliment did little to ease the taunting in Spike's voice.
Taking a few steps, Giles joined Spike to have a better view. It was at once embarrassing and erotic to see the scene from the outside, but he wasn't about to discuss that with Spike. "I just lost a bet. Ethan wanted to go out, and hear me sing in the club. I said that I could do just as well at home."
Giles, the younger, set down the guitar, a hard look on his face. "All right, you're too distracting, so we will have to go out, but not before you finish what you started." There was nothing but delight on Ethan's face as he took Giles in, slowly licking.
Tease, thought Giles, his young self agreeing apparently. With one hand he grabbed Ethan by the back of the neck and stood, thrusting hard into the willing mouth. There was something akin to both victory and adoration in Ethan's eyes.
A quick glance at Spike showed the other man lost in thought, and Giles wondered what memory he was lost in. Expletives fell from the mouth of the younger Giles as he reached for a cheap tumbler of even cheaper scotch. The amber liquid disappeared like water, and the glass went flying, shattering against the wall in a thousand glittering sparkles.
"Dru! Breaking the glasses is fine, but come and pour some of that fine ambrosia for your Da." Instinctively, Giles stepped out of the path of Drusilla. Her phantom was dashing across the posh room with a fine cut glass decanter.
With a giggle she held the bottle high, mostly pouring into Angelus' mouth while a thin stream ran down his shirt and into the brown hair of a young man. Thick fingers held the man's head in place while Angel spent his lust, much like the phantom Giles had done.
"Watch, princess. Willie here has other things on his mind, other ambrosia he's waiting to taste. Isn't that right, Willie?"
There was a glare in the eyes of the man on his knees--a glare that matched the one currently in the eyes of his companion.
"It would seem that romance has been overrated in our pasts." Giles' comment didn't seem to lighten the mood at all.
Spike was very still. "I think I'd kill you if we weren't in the middle of sharing a nightmare. I might still kill you when we wake up." Stalking straight to the apparition of himself, Spike clenched his fists in frustration. "Don't!"
Angelus had pulled out and was fisting his own cock with one hand, while fondling Drusilla with the other. There was something slow and deliberate in the Irish brogue that carried the authority of steel and the weight of ten tons of iron. "Isn't that right, Willie?"
Anger and fury mixed with something more like need flashed through, well, through Spike's younger face, while something cold covered the face of the elder. There was a whisper.
"William." Reaching out with his hands, he grabbed Angelus' hips, trying to draw the other man back, but to no avail.
"Tell me what you want...William." Angelus bent over at the waist, bringing their faces close together. "Tell me, or there won't be any treats tonight." And with that he pulled Drusilla closer, his hand pinching an exposed nipple. In response, she groaned and sucked on Angelus' neck.
"I want...I want you. I want her. I want." Passionate, desperate, a needful ache that only the young can pull off; something of beauty in Giles' eyes, something that made him want to take Angelus' place. For his part, Angelus made no move to satisfy the boy; he hadn't received the answer that he wanted. Giles knew the game-had wanted to play it once, but Ethan...Ethan could out play him any day of the week. Ethan might have proved to be a challenge to Angelus...or perhaps the other way around.
The way the modern Spike was vibrating in barely controlled fury, Giles suspected that William didn't really stand a chance against Angelus.
"I want your cock, want to feel it stretching my mouth, and taste the salt of your come sliding down my throat." Intriguing -- not the younger man, but his older counterpart. Something like relief passed over his features, and based on the hard outline in his jeans, Giles would say that Spike was now finding the scene erotic.
"Good boy." Before the phrase was even finished, Angelus had released Drusilla and had William's head in both his hands, pumping himself hard and deep into the boy. "Such a good boy."
Drusilla was laughing and pouring the alcohol over the two of them until finally she hurled the empty decanter into the fireplace, shattering it into crystals and flames.
Blinking at the sudden flash of the fire, Giles found himself staring up into a streetlight.
"Good! Keep him in front of you. That's it! Excellent, Buffy!" His own voice again.
"Giles, enough! If I needed a pep squad I would have invited Cordelia along. And can I kill this guy? I'm supposed to be meeting Willow and Xander at the Bronze."
Spike's voice was in his ear. "I've watched Angel and Xander look at her when she fights. Know I do the same thing, drool over her; she's poetry. Never saw you do it until now."
Giles was seeing the same thing for the first time. Although if he was being honest, he would have admitted to fighting those feelings for years. A roundhouse kick sent the vampire tumbling backwards. Buffy followed up with a right that didn't quite connect because of his backward movement.
Giles and Spike winced, speaking together. "I hate when she does that."
"Leaves her whole right side open."
"Off balance, longer to recover."
"Easier to trip."
They glanced at each other, trying to decide if they should be embarrassed. Turning back to the fight, they watched a very frustrated Giles attempt to point these things out to a very hard headed, and apparently hard of hearing, young lady.
"She always knows her mind, whether she's right or wrong." Spike settled back against one of the tombstones, surprised that it seemed to hold his weight. Pointing at the Giles instructing Buffy, Spike frowned. "There's all sorts of worry in your eyes. You were worried about her and a fledgling? She eats those for lunch."
Giles didn't care for being Spike's puzzle. Spying his thermos on the ground, he made the attempt and was surprised to find he could lift it.
"I always worried about her. I just didn't realize exactly how much of that could be seen on my face." Giles took a swig, but instead of feeling the warm metal of thermos against his lips, there was the feel of smooth glass. For a brief moment, the light was brighter and the ground was cold. There was a body draped on his, reflecting his own warmth back. A rough tongue licked the throbbing vein on his neck. Giles could feel himself holding the someone's head closer.
A crash as the fledging vampire hit a mausoleum brought Giles back, and he passed the container to Spike. Giles very much wanted to pick up the previous conversation. "This, this is a few weeks after she got back from Los Angeles, after she'd killed Angel."
"Hmph, I'll drink to that, even tea." Giles smiled a little when Spike momentarily winced and took another swig. There was a far away look in the other man's eyes, and then something dark when he pulled himself back. Just as quickly, it faded. "I think someone replaced your cream with single malt, chum."
"I lived my life in bloody terror while she was gone, wondering if she was hurt or in pain and knowing that I should be there to do something, anything, everything for her. I was her Watcher-God! What a horribly useless term." Sighing heavily, Giles removed his glasses, wiping them on his shirt. "Of course, I knew that she was alive; I would have been told if another slayer was called. God, how many times did I deny that there was something stronger there?"
Passing the thermos back, Spike looked between the men, one so much older in more than just age. "Were you denying wanting to be her father or her lover?"
Giles raised his eyebrows. Somewhere beyond this dream, the world was preparing to end. Maybe it was a time for honesty and confessions. But why it should be to Spike, Giles didn't know, except perhaps it was the shared drug coursing through their bodies.
"I think it may have changed day to day. Truthfully my reaction may have changed depending on what I thought she needed. Most days that was a father, but there were some days when she was being stubborn beyond all reason that-" Giles stopped, unable to say it.
"You wanted to pin her down and make her listen, no matter what it took."
Dawn had told Giles one version, Xander another and Buffy still a third. The remorse on Spike's face told a story more like Buffy's, but perhaps in a language that only another man might understand. It didn't make it any more right or any less infuriating.
"The difference is that I would never lay a hand on her." Giles couldn't keep the anger out of his voice.
"Yeah, that's right. You walked away from her. For what, her own good? Wasn't that the story you used? How much of it was for her own good and how much of it was fear of what you might do?" Spike was on his feet, unable to sit still. "Something here about pots and kettles."
Bitter denial raged on the tip of his tongue, and Giles knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would never have hurt her. But something in the back of his mind told him that he would have done... the inappropriate.
"It seems we are two men destined to love her too much. Either we wander the shadows and the cold, or we become too close until we are burned. Spike, watch out!"
The fight had carried the combatants near them, and the phantom Giles passed straight through Spike, causing no harm to either of them; however, the thermos went flying from Spike's hand. The container tumbled, spilling its contents onto the grass until it slammed into a headstone with the pop and tinkle of glass as the vacuum bottle broke.
The backfire of a car heralded their arrival in an alley.
"You tried to save my arse back there."
"I did no such thing. I was hoping that you would save the thermos." Giles frowned. "That was the night it broke. Regardless, I could use another drink, right now."
"Yeah, doesn't look like we're going to find anything around here." The alley was somewhere in Sunnydale, lord knew that there had been enough of them. They were following Buffy and another version of Spike.
"When do you suppose this is; it's apparently your memory."
Spinning on his heel and walking backwards, Spike held out his hands. "Buffy and I spent a lot of time together, walking these streets, keeping down the evil."
The obvious inference was that Giles hadn't done enough of it. The pair ahead of them turned a corner. Spike was moving backwards so he did not see the stone stairwell, the posters-
Giles paused. "I know this place."
With a raised eyebrow, Spike turned, and Giles would have sworn that the vampire had become paler.
"Vampire brothel. I didn't know that you were involved in Buffy finding out about this nest." There had been something very wrong about how Buffy had reacted to that nest, and it would seem that Giles now had the opportunity to find out why. Jogging ahead, he caught up with the phantom pair.
Spikes caught up as well. "Yeah, I showed her the nest, she burned it to the ground--nothing grand. Let's see if this dream won't let us make our way down to Willie's for that drink you and I could both use."
Stopping, Giles turned. "That wasn't even remotely convincing. You're not obligated to come along." Without waiting for a reply, Giles walked in and saw Buffy heading for the stairs while phantom-Spike roughed up a minion.
"It was a mistake, and I immediately regretted it." Spike was hanging back by the door, apparently unwilling to come fully in.
Giles turned, still following the phantom Buffy and Spike. "I'm gathering that. Would you like to tell me what I'm going to find at the top of the stairs?"
He could hear Spike swear under his breath.
"Spike?" But before Giles could break Spike's silence, Buffy came rushing through him, followed quickly by the other Spike.
"Good Lord!" Giles stepped off the stairs to join Spike. "What did she see? What did you show her?"
Spike remained unmoving, but Giles' question was answered nonetheless, as Riley Finn came barreling down the stairs.
Spike was leaning against the doorjamb, looking down. "I was like a cat in cream. For about thirty seconds. He went from her bed straight here, had him dead to rights." Giles could see Spike stiffening, waiting for the reprimand, and god, it would be easy.
Crossing the room, back to the entrance, Giles put his face close to Spike's. "You were selfish, and your methods were completely tactless, invasive. I'm glad you did it." Giles surprised himself by saying that; fury was boiling beneath the surface, but not with Spike. It was one thing to be upset about the entire concept of Spike with Buffy, but he had trusted Riley. Riley had been good for Buffy. God, he didn't want Buffy hurt, and he had genuinely liked Riley from a father's point of view. Oh bugger. Truth be told, he liked Riley because Riley actually breathed, unlike her other boyfriends.
"Well I'm happy one of us was glad." Spike was looking around at the fetid surroundings, the stoned humans and vampires and those simply lightheaded from blood loss. "All the likely suspects are gone; why d'ya suppose we're still here?"
"I don' t know, unless we're supposed to take another hit." Giles walked around, touching various objects and putting them down.
"Yeah, that's what we need, more of the fun drug." Spike's disappointment was evident, and Giles couldn't really blame him. Spike picked up a beer bottle, taking a long pull, and became lost again for a moment. Taking the bottle from his unresisting fingers, Giles tasted scotch and felt a hard hand wrapped around his cock. He was licking and biting at Spike's face, the background of stone walls fuzzy.
When the scene shifted back to the brothel, Giles could tell from the look in Spike's eyes that the experience was not his alone. With open observation, Spike looked Giles up and down, focusing on the bulge in his trousers. Feeling no need for discretion at this point, Giles returned the assessment and saw that Spike was feeling much the same.
"Rather strange that we seem to be sober in this version of reality." Giles leaned back against a broken couch.
"Yeah, I'd say." Spike glanced around and finally picked up a loaded syringe. "We could try to fix that."
Could dream drugs make one stoned? It was really a bit too much for Giles to contemplate. Instead he focused on how hard he was and what that hand felt like on his cock. He rolled up his sleeve and made a fist.
Spike obliged by squirting a bit of the liquid out and pushing the needle into Giles' arm. Both men watched the mystical fluid disappear beneath his skin. While Giles was still a bit spell bound, Spike's teeth were nipping at his lip, seeking entrance. With a fierceness that he thought that he had forgotten, Giles grabbed the back of Spike's head, forcing his tongue into the other man's mouth.
Spike broke the kiss a few moments later to bring his mouth to Giles' throat. The pain was momentary, but the bliss was lasting. Bucking hard, Giles ground his cock into the hollow of Spike's hip.
There was the tinkle of glass as the syringe shattered.
They were in blackness, but somehow could see each other. Spike's teeth tore at Giles' mouth, but despite the aggression, the vampire complied as Giles pushed him into a seemingly non-existent wall. There was the taste of metal now from the shed blood, but neither of them bothered to mention it. Rough hands pulled at clothing, threatening to rip cloth and pop buttons. In the end, they released each other momentarily to shed their own clothing.
Giles moved insistent hands over the hard muscled planes of Spike's body, leaving bruises in his rush for contact. Spike was not passive through all this, shoving a hard thigh between Giles' legs and nipping at his throat. Giles groaned as Spike's mouth latched onto the wound, sucking hard but not drawing more blood.
Taking Spike's cock into his fist, Giles began stroking hard, feeling the organ swell and harden. Before long, Spike was whimpering into his neck. Desperate for friction of his own, Giles ground his own erection against Spike's leg, feeling it slide on his own come leaking out of his cock. Pushing Spike harder into the wall, Giles took hold of the other man's sac, massaging.
His face was close to Spike's ear. "Do you want to be on your knees, sucking me off, reliving some of those good old times?" Spike growled and bucked hard, but not hard enough to push Giles off. "Or do you want to be bent over, with me pounding into your arse?"
With a groan, Spike pinched Giles' nipples until he gasped with a combination of pain and pleasure. But Spike used the slight gap to turn and lean over the table, knocking over a candelabrum in the darkness. There had been no candles, no tables, but now there were and even though the room was more substantial, it was still held in a hazy darkness.
With one hand, Giles shove Spike hard against the table, while his other hand probed the places between Spike's legs. When his fingers traced Spike's opening, the other man whimpered again, pushing back, begging for the contact.
Wetting his fingers, Giles wasted no time in preparing the way. As soon as Giles' fingers entered him, Spike clamped down his muscles, making promises for when Giles much more substantial cock replaced them. As his finger worked, whispering across the pleasure center, Spike bucked, begging for more with his body. Wasting no more time, Giles stroked his own cock, spreading the pre-come as he went.
Slapping Spike's arse, Giles stilled its movements with a hand on the other man's back. With one swift stroke Giles entered him, reveling in the tight confines. Spike was anxious like a wild horse, ready to run. Immediately, he started moving back, demanding more. Giles grabbed his wrists and pushed down on Spike's back with his chest, stilling the other man again.
"Do it, you bloody tease. Need it. Need it now."
"Grab hold of the table and hold onto it like your life depended on it."
Spike grumbled a reply as his hands gripped the table. "Not bloody alive. Got to act like the damn orchestra conductor."
Biting Spike's ear, Giles growled. "Shut up."
With that he grabbed Spike's hips and nearly pulled out all the way before plunging deep, looking for his own pleasure. Spike grunted at the sudden movements, but kept silent. To reward this, Giles shifted his angle and began to repeatedly hit Spike's gland, sending shockwaves through the other man, and drawing out groans.
"So bloody tight." Giles hadn't meant to speak, but the experience was good, and it had been so long. The touch of violence was also something that he'd missed, being allowed to pour all his energy into the body of another. Taking Spike in hand, Giles squeezed and stroked, allowing his fingers to play along the head, tracing paths along the slit.
"Fuck, fuck, please." Spike's eyes were closed tight as he mouthed the words against the smooth wood surface.
"Please what, what do you want?"
"Need to come. Please! Want to come."
Nothing Giles was doing was preventing that, but having seen Spike and Angelus together, he suspected that Spike was remembering old rules for these encounters. With a single finger, he traced the length of Spike's cock. Stopping his own movements, Giles leaned down close to Spike's ear. With the single finger still teasing, he whispered, "Come," and bit down on Spike's shoulder.
"Fuck!" Spike's body lost all control as he convulsed around Giles, panting onto the table.
Without giving the other man a chance to recover, Giles pounded into him hard and deep, using Spike's body to gain his own pleasure. It was only a few more strokes before Giles was crying out, his cock pulsing out his completion as he collapsed onto Spike.
The sun was going down as Giles woke, bruised and aching on the cold stone floor. Spike looked half awake a few feet away.
Spike must have noticed him waking and spoke without really looking at Giles. "If you're feeling any urges to talk about the last few hours, I think it might be-"
"A good idea not to mention it, ever?"
"Exactly what I had in mind."
Sitting up, Giles began to pull on his clothing, taking care to cover the wound on his neck. "At least we're in agreement about one thing."
"Maybe more." Spike was fussing with his coat, not looking at Giles.
Resisting the urge to demand answer, Giles pulled on his own shoes. "We both love Buffy, as much as it pains the other."
Spike snorted and stood up. "Yeah. We're both also fighting a war to save the world. Nice to have you on my team." Spike extended a hand.
Giles took it, pulling himself up. "Nice to be on Buffy's team, together."
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